Bror
by Astra H. Lowelle
Summary: Olaf Crabbe-Sjall, half-brother to the late Vincent, just wants all the memories to go away. At least until he remembers.


Olaf Crabbe-Sjall had come back to the bar.

He hated himself for it.

The last time he'd drunk, _really_ drunk, drunk enough to _make _himself drunk, was before Vince had died, and that had been years and years ago. Not Vince dying. That had only been about three months. But he hadn't touched a drop until tonight.

Olaf had gone outside to look at the stars. He had been looking from his bedroom window, and wanted to go outside and see them properly.

And then he remembered that Vince had loved looking at the stars in the summer, and suddenly Olaf Crabbe-Sjall was inundated with memories of his half-brother and because memories required thought and thinking was frankly just too painful right now, Olaf got up from his place on the warm grass and headed out to the Muggle bar four blocks away.

The streets were quiet. The stars still twinkled down on him, as if nothing had changed and Vince was still pointing out his favorite constellations- "Look, there's Draco; I tried to show Malfoy once but he said I was being annoying-" and cars flashed past, and Olaf wished he needed a jacket so he could have pockets to put his hands into, but it was so warm it wasn't necessary.

The bar was on the next block. At least there was something still as it was, comforting in its familiarity.

"Wha'll it be, bud?" demanded the gruff-faced barkeep when Olaf came in and approached the grimy counter. Olaf said what he wanted, took his drink, and went to go sit down.

The bar was filthy and loud and noisy and rowdy. He recognized a few old buddies of his, one of them in a fight with another bloke, and broken glass littered the floor from the smashed bottles they were pitching at each other's heads. Everything smelled of dank and spilled beer, the lighting was bad, music blared sulkily from who knew where and the walls were dingy and grungy and the whole place looked like it was going to cave in any second.

He'd taken Vince here once.

Olaf growled in mingled animalistic pain and annoyance that the memories were still there, drank his beer in two enormous gulps, and ordered another one and then sat waiting for the warm mental numbness to come.

It was a while in coming, and Olaf Crabbe-Sjall had to drink three more beers before it came. But come it did, sort of, and he felt better.

Vince had helped him stop drinking.

Olaf growled again and kicked the table leg, hard. Why wouldn't everything just go away and leave him _alone?_

And now he was drinking, trying to drink away the memory of Vince helping him to stop drinking.

That was called _irony_, as Olaf remembered.

He took a gulp of beer and sat back.

_Nilsa Sjall was a Norwegian beauty who married William Crabbe after both had lost their spouses, and each was left with a son. Nilsa's fourteen-year-old Olaf had taken an instant familial affection to William's baby Vincent. _

Olaf kicked the table leg again, more weakly this time.

_Olaf had left Durmstrang by the time Vincent went to Hogwarts. The brothers got along fairly well, though they had definitely clashed occasionally, but Olaf had given Vince's Chocolate Frogs back eventually._

Olaf took another drink of beer, a smaller sip.

_Vince was worried about the Dark Lord and his plans. Father kept having to go to meetings and Vince's best friend was getting nervous and shaky and Vince was getting a little nervous himself. Vince knew the year wouldn't end well. _

Olaf considered finishing his beer, but it wasn't filling the emptiness inside and the beer really didn't actually taste so good anymore.

Vince didn't like beer.

Olaf missed Vince.

_Olaf _

_missed _

_Vince._

Was it so simple?

No, not _really_, but beer didn't taste so great anyway and it was making him feel sick.

Olaf got to his feet, moving slowly, and exited the bar on shaky legs to go outside and look at the stars again.

There were still there, twinkling brightly, waiting for him to look up at and give them a sad smile.

"Hi, Vince."

They shimmered gently.

"Miss you, bror."

He hadn't used the special name in three months. _Bror_ meant _brother_ in Norwegian, and it was how Nilsa had first introduced the two.

_Bror._

"I miss you," Olaf said again, and swallowed a beery aftertaste.

The stars winked.

With a heavy sigh, Olaf Crabbe-Sjall directed his steps toward home.

It wasn't _that_ simple.

But Vince wasn't _that_ gone.

_Bror._


End file.
